The Kaiserine's Champion

by Derek Paterson

  As we bowed to the Kaiserine, I wondered who the Lady von Klaus might be—not that it mattered, for it was unlikely and unnecessary that we ever meet. The idea that this might be Thenck's own pseudonym amused me only briefly. Gunter took his axe in his left hand again and raised his sword. I faced him, dropping into en garde.

  My first priority was that damned axe which could do wicked damage at close quarters. Gunter danced forward, leading with his sword; I tapped his blade aside with my own, ducked as the axe came up and around, then scored a shallow cut across the back of his forearm and kicked the axe out of his hand. The weapon spun through the air and landed near the ramp's edge.

  Gunter's expression betrayed nothing as he came in very fast, opening my uniform jacket from shoulder to waist. A thousand pairs of lungs sucked in a deep breath but I'd leapt back just in time, otherwise he'd have opened me up, too. We came together, and he quickly proved himself to be a swordsman of no mean skill. His style was predominantly Prussian but there were elements of Corsican, Portugee and even Moskovian too. I watched, fascinated, as he executed a Moskovian fletch followed by a flat Corsican strike that would have taken my sword from my hand if I'd been an instant slower. He pursued me relentlessly around the Arena and I gave ground unwillingly, fighting him all the way.

  Just for a moment we drew apart, each studying the other. The crowd, including Count Laszlo, used the moment to applaud our display. Only the Kaiserine didn't clap, and Thenck behind her. Duke Wilhelm was nearly jumping up and down in his chair with excitement.

  Gunter's sword blurred as he executed an eight-point attack, one of the most difficult maneuvers a swordsman can attempt, and the most dangerous. I parried more by accident than design and struck out blindly as he ran past me. I expected him to twist around and come at me again but he staggered, covering his eye with his left hand. I realized at once what had transpired and didn't press home my advantage. Instead I stood motionless, with the bloodied point of my sabre resting upon the Arena floor.

  After a moment, Gunter realized I wasn't coming after him. He took his bloodied hand away and looked at me with his one remaining eye. I held up my hand, telling him to stay where he was, then turned and addressed Count Laszlo.

  “Count, the doctor, if you please?"

  Laszlo didn't know what to do. The doctor, in the middle of an Arena fight? He glanced up at the Kaiserine's box but received no advice from that quarter. Frustrated, he turned and hurried down the ramp, shouting as he ran. In moments he returned with a small gentleman wearing a long black coat and carrying a black leather bag. The doctor looked around the Arena in surprise, as if seeing it for the first time before Laszlo pointed him to Gunter, who'd also grounded his sword and was waiting to see exactly what I was up to.

  The crowd remained silent. Curious looks were directed at the Kaiserine's box, as if they expected someone to cry foul or mismatch. Slowly the doctor crossed the Arena floor until he stood before Gunter. He put down his bag, opened it, took out cloth and ointment and began cleaning Gunter's face. At the doctor's request, Gunter went down on one knee and tilted his head back to receive treatment. Time dragged on, and still no one spoke or did anything to stop it. Several puzzled officials gathered at the top of the ramp and tried to question Count Laszlo, but he waved them all to silence.

  The doctor placed a pad over Gunter's eye and wrapped a bandage around his head to keep the pad in place. He tied a neat knot, then closed his bag and waddled back to the ramp. As he passed me by he remarked, with a tone of severe disapproval, “A foul stroke, m'sieur."

  I already knew as much. I approached Gunter, and bowed from the waist. “I apologize for taking your eye,” I said.

  “Accepted,” he said, grinning despite his injury.

  “Are you willing to continue?"

  “Yes. I only need one eye to beat you."

  “We shall see,” I said, stepping back and assuming en garde. Gunter did the same and the crowd roared and stamped its feet and cheered. Duke Wilhelm stood and clapped, and others in the Kaiserine's box did likewise. Then the noise died away to be replaced by an expectant silence. The Duke sat down again, as did the rest, but he leaned forward in anticipation of what was to come.

  Our swords clashed and we circled the Arena, each of us seeking an opening, but finding none. Good? He was excellent. If not for a certain bite that had increased my strength and quickened my reflexes, he'd have had me a dozen times.

  I deliberately kept away from his blind side, fighting him as fairly as I could, for I reckoned I had enough of an advantage. We fought for longer than all the previous matches put together, and we fought well.

  As absurd as it sounds, I found myself avoiding openings that I might easily have taken. The truth of the matter slowly dawned on me. I had no desire to wound Duke Wilhelm's man further, or to kill him. I was a soldier, not a murderer. Otto Thenck had chosen the wrong man.

  Gunter began to sense my hesitation, but could do nothing about it because he was tiring, while I was still fresh and strong.

  “Damn you,” he hissed, as we came together and strained against each other like two battling stags in the forest. “You're making a fool out of me!"

  He was right, of course. Soon everyone watching would know that I wasn't pressing home my attacks. Doubtless it was only be a matter of time before officials noticed also, and stepped in to stop the fight. What then? How would Thenck react if they disqualified me from the contest? I didn't imagine he'd be too pleased. There would be no bag of silver and no fast horse to take me out of the city. Probably the last thing I'd hear was the bang of a discharging musket, an instant before the heavy lead ball blew my head off.

  I pushed Gunter away, feinted right, stamped left and disarmed him with a downward stroke that must have numbed his entire arm. His sword clattered across the Arena floor. Before he could do anything I had the point of my weapon at his throat. He bared his teeth, realizing he'd lost, then raised his chin, ready for the death-thrust. His single eye glared at me, insisting I finish him quickly.

  The only problem was, I didn't want to.

  “On your knees,” I said.

  He slowly sank down, while I kept my sword at his throat. Again the crowd held its breath. Duke Wilhelm was clutching the rail so tightly that the varnished wood squeaked in protest.

  I drew in a deep breath, then said, “Do you swear eternal loyalty to our beloved Kaiserine? Will you serve her always, as a faithful servant, until death takes you?"

  It was the oath of the Imperial Armed Forces, which I had taken myself upon joining the Army. Gunter frowned, puzzled, but he looked up at the Kaiserine's box and gave the formal reply: “I do, and I will."

  I stepped back, lowering my sword. “Then rise and leave this place with your life, and your honor, intact."

  He stared up at me for long seconds, then rose off the Arena floor, evidently stunned by my actions and by the fact he was still alive. He wasn't the only one who was confused. What I'd done had a sense of ritual about it, as if I'd invoked some ancient escape clause. The officials, including the Duke Wilhelm, were looking at each other and trying to decide exactly what to do next.

  The Duke waved to Count Laszlo, who hurried forward. Wilhelm met him half-way down the steps to the Kaiserine's box and they conferred in urgent whispers.

  Gunter gave me a final speculative look, then turned his back on me, walked to the ramp and left the Arena, accompanied by cheers from the crowd. They liked what I'd done, sparing a brave man his life; but would those in charge of the contest like it equally as well?

  Thenck was watching me again, expressionless and apparently unmoved by what he'd just witnessed. But I could sense his cold rage even from this distance.

  Then Count Laszlo came down the steps and approached me.

  “The Kaiserine wants to speak with you,” he said, and his tone and expression suggested this wasn't altogether a good thing.

  * * * *

  We met in a deserted corridor, far from prying eyes.
I'd been relieved of my sword but despite this, several Guardsmen armed with muskets stood at either end of the corridor, watching me closely, while I stood beside Count Laszlo and received a Kaiserine's wrath.

  “'Insolence’ is too small a word for what you have done,” she said, pacing up and down in front of me, radiating her displeasure. She suddenly stopped pacing, turned to face me and placed her hands on her hips. “What the devil were you thinking of, flaunting the rules of the Arena like that?” she demanded, her nostrils flaring.

  “Your Majesty—” I began, but she held up a hand, demanding silence. I noticed a thin red scar running around her wrist, but didn't think it significant, not then.

  “I will not have anyone taking over my tournament and bending it to their own desires. What's done is done, but there will be no more of it, Herr Bruno, otherwise there will be an unfortunate accident. You're good, but your blade is no match for the Tirpitz musket, especially in the hands of one of my Guardsmen. Do I make myself clear?"

  “Yes, Your Majesty.” She didn't mince words, this young-old woman who ruled Europa with an iron fist. She looked at Count Laszlo and indicated, with a toss of her head, that he should leave us alone. Laszlo retreated, bowing all the way.

  She waited until he was out of hearing range, then said, in a low voice, “So, Herr Manfred. Thenck was right—you've proved yourself to be a remarkable swordsman."

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” I said, bewildered by the fact she knew my real identity, and evidently also knew that Thenck was responsible for my being there. Now that she'd verbally whipped me with her beautiful voice, I'd expected her to dismiss me so she could return to watching the contest. But she stared at me for a while longer and I had the feeling I was being evaluated.

  She said, “You noted the disturbance when I rose to address you in the Arena?” I recalled the arrest of the idiot behind me, who had failed to bow, and nodded. “He was an assassin,” the Kaiserine said. “He's dead now, of course, but before he died, he confirmed what we suspected—that my enemies are taking direct action against me."

  “Enemies, Your Majesty?” I thought she meant spies working for some foreign power—Moskovia, Turkach or perhaps Ch'nee, none of which had any great love for the Empire.

  “Filth,” she said. “Vampyres."

  She couldn't have shocked me more if she'd slapped me across the face with a wet fish. Vampyres! All I'd heard about since I'd arrived in this damned city was vampyres! But I kept my mouth closed and betrayed none of my surprise.

  “The Secret Police have been sniffing out their nests in High Sazburg and destroying them, on my orders,” the Kaiserine went on. “Now the filth have decided to retaliate by striking back at me. Thenck's agents warned him that three vampyre assassins had been dispatched to kill me today. The Secret Police intercepted and staked one before it even reached the Arena. We've dealt with the second one—you witnessed his arrest. Now we must identify and kill the third vampyre.” She tapped a slim, elegant finger against my chest. “Which is where you come in, my brave swordsman."

  Her sarcasm wasn't lost on me. “How may I serve Your Majesty?” I asked.

  “I'm told the filth like to prove their superiority,” she said. “What better way to accomplish this than to defeat all the human competitors and become Arena Champion? But we arranged a little surprise for them, Thenck and I. The second vampyre was blinded and stunned when polished mirrors directed sunlight into the Arena's lower levels. He wasn't expecting that, and my Guardsmen overwhelmed him before he could recover. But the third vampyre, who undoubtedly was also present, didn't even flinch—or, if he did, none of the small army of observers watching the assembly saw this. That means he's very old, very experienced, and the most dangerous adversary you're likely to meet in the Arena. Which is why you must put your misplaced sense of honor to one side, Herr Manfred, at least until the contest is over and the third vampyre lies dead at your feet. You have no way of knowing who he is, therefore you must kill everyone who is sent against you."

  I didn't much like the sound of that, and it must have shown on my face because she slapped me, hard enough to make me stagger. Fast, too; I hadn't even sensed the blow coming.

  “What is more important to you, swordsman?” she hissed into my face, her eyes blazing with anger. “Your honor, or the life of your Kaiserine? One cannot exist without the other. Consider this on your way back to the Arena."

  She drew back and summoned Count Laszlo. He came running, bringing with him a sword, which he offered to the Kaiserine. With an impatient gesture she indicated that he should give it to me.

  I took the sword and, with growing curiosity, pulled the first few inches of glinting steel out of its plain leather scabbard. I dared not draw it fully for fear of prompting a reaction from the Kaiserine's watchful bodyguards. The steel was inlaid with silver, forming intricate swirling patterns down the blade. I doubted whether I'd ever held a more beautiful or more expensive object in my life.

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” I said. “Your generosity is boundless."

  “It's not a gift, Herr Bruno,” she said, using my false name again because Laszlo was there. “It's a weapon. I don't expect you to admire it, I expect you to kill people with it.” She waved Laszlo away again. “The filth don't like silver, a fact they have taken great pains to conceal,” she said, lowering her voice. “My scientists are unable to explain why, but it burns their flesh on contact. Thenck assures me that a direct strike to the heart with that sword will destroy a vampyre. Assuming, of course, that the man who wields the blade is as good as I think he is.” A ghost of a smile played about her lips. “Good luck to you, Herr Bruno. If you live to see the end of today, you and I will speak again; you can be sure of it."

  With this, she turned and swept away. Her bodyguards fell in behind her. The small party rounded a corner and vanished from sight. Count Laszlo wiped sweat from his brow with a handkerchief and breathed a long sigh of relief.

  “You know,” he said, “I think she actually likes you."

  I rubbed my stinging cheek, remembering the slap. “She has a damned queer way of showing it."

  He grinned and clapped me on the shoulder. “You're still alive, aren't you? That proves it. You see, those who earn the Kaiserine's displeasure usually find themselves developing a medical complaint."

  I looked at him curiously. “What's that?"

  “They stop breathing,” he said, his manner and his expression deadly serious. “I suggest we return to the waiting area. You've had your first fight and probably won't be called upon again for a while. I suggest you put your feet up and relax, while you can."

  We made our way along the twisting corridors until we found the waiting area again. Count Laszlo stopped and sucked in a deep breath, for at least fifty uniformed officers and servants were waiting outside the area, all of them waving pieces of paper. They surged forward and would have overwhelmed us had several armed guards not obeyed Laszlo's signal, forming a barrier that stopped the human tide.

  “Damnation!” he said.

  “What's going on?” I asked.

  “Something I should have foreseen,” he said. He twirled the end of his mustache nervously. Everyone was shouting for attention, demanding Laszlo notice them first. “They're all offering private challenges. From the looks of things, everyone wants to fight you to prove themselves."

  “What's their hurry? They'll get their chance."

  “You don't understand. The Rules state that one competitor may issue a private challenge to another competitor at any time. The scheduled fights are postponed until the private challenge is satisfied. That's the way of it."

  The crowd continued to shout and whistle and wave their papers, and more soldiers had to be brought in to push them back, such was their determination to reach me.

  “Do you mean what I think you mean?” I asked.

  Laszlo nodded slowly. “Providing the Arena adjudication committee agrees to uphold these challenges, which it surely will, yo
u'll have to fight all challengers, one after the other, without pause."

  “What if I refuse?"

  Laszlo turned to face me. “Refuse an Arena challenge? It's never happened before, so I don't rightly know, but I suspect there's a nasty penalty clause lurking in the small print."

  “That's what I thought you might say."

  I walked forward, reached past the line of soldiers and grabbed three sheets of paper from the nearest three hands. I thrust them toward Laszlo.

  “Send those three up first,” I said, heading for the ramp. “Then pick whatever ones you fancy from the crowd."

  If I was going to die then I'd die fighting, not at the end of a rope, or in front of a firing squad, or in some dark cellar beneath Otto Thenck's headquarters.

  “I salute your courage, lad!” Laszlo called after me.

  Courage be damned, I was just annoyed with the entire bloody business. I hadn't asked to be bitten by a vampyre, nor had I asked to become the Kaiserine's personal butcher.

  Once again I stepped into the Arena. The crowd roared as it recognized me. I drew my new sword and threw the leather scabbard away, signifying my intention to meet all challenges with naked steel. They roared louder. I looked up at the Kaiserine's box. She took her seat beside Duke Wilhelm, and the entertainment resumed.

  * * * *

  My first adversary was a bearded giant of an Artillery corporal who had chosen a pike as his weapon. It looked like a toy in his huge hands. He came up the ramp cautiously as if he expected me to be waiting there in ambush, but I stood at the far side of the Arena, my sword-point resting on the floor.

  “Come no further,” I shouted. My voice echoed across the Arena, stopping him. “If you do, expect no quarter."

  The giant snarled and charged straight for me, sweeping his pike up and around as though it weighed nothing. I ran to meet him half-way, judged the sweep of the pike, leapt, and continued past him, almost all the way to the ramp. I heard his knees and then his body hit the Arena floor like a toppled tree. Without even looking at his headless corpse I jogged back to my former position and waited for the next man. Not a word came from the crowd; not a single whisper.